


Taken for Dead

by NevermoreQ



Category: Left 4 Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Game: Left 4 Dead 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-04-07 08:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14076819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NevermoreQ/pseuds/NevermoreQ
Summary: A fanfic story about the characters from Left For Dead 2. The cannon characters along with some original characters in an original adventure of the Survivors in the apocalyptic world. Takes place after Ellis, Nick, Rochelle, and Coach were rescued, but through a course of events... they're back on their own again.





	1. the Survivors

#  **The Survivors**

 

It was quiet. Too quiet. The only sound was the footfalls of the four who trekked down the deserted highway. Abandoned cars with broken windows littered the road, smashed into each other, or just deserted with doors open wide. The hot sun beat down on the pavement, and in the distance the road shimmered like water in a blurred mirage. Insects droned, whizzing by the four travellers. The silence was tense, and made all four uneasy. The crunch of a pebble under someone’s boot seemed unbearably loud. Suddenly the silence was broken by soft whistling, some tuneless melody.

“Shut up, Ellis.”

    The whistling stopped, and the silence fell again. Tufts of grass growing in the cracks of the paved road blew gently with the slight breeze that was welcomed by the four survivors.

The whistler was a young man probably near his mid-twenties. He was fit, not so very tall, with dirty-blond, curly hair sticking out from under an old baseball cap. His bright blue eyes looked a bit dejected at being ordered to keep quiet, as he scanned the road. He wore a soiled, faded t-shirt and overalls, the top half tied around his waist, instead of around his shoulders. The whistler, or Ellis, as was his name, had a boyish face with just the slightest indication of needing a shave. He wore heavy work boots that clomped on the pavement just a tad louder than the others. In his oil-smudged hands, he carried a shotgun.

The harsh voice that snapped at him belonged to an older and slightly taller man, probably mid-thirties, nearing forty. He had shortly cropped brown hair, and muddy greenish eyes. His face was in a permanent expression of irritation, with the sliver of a scar on his forehead above his left eye. He needed a shave, his jaw covered with bristles. The most striking thing about him, was his attire. A fancy suit, blazer and slacks, which might have once upon a time been the color white. It was no longer white, in fact it was nearing an ugly yellowish color, covered in stains. The pant legs in particular were nearly brown with mud and sludge. His blue shirt collar was open a bit, sweat gleaming on his forehead under the hot yellow sun. He held a submachine gun in his hands, pointing it forward, ready to fire at a moments notice.

The man in the suit lead the way, with Ellis behind him, and the last two following up from the rear. The other two companions walked in silence, keeping a watchful eye on the sides of the road. They all walked as if at any moment, something might leap out at them from behind a car or from the ditch on the side of the road. In truth, that was exactly what could happen. The Infected were out there, somewhere, waiting for them. The disease that spread all over the nation, possibly all over the world had turned nearly every single bit of humanity into raving, savage monsters. Thousands upon thousands of the creatures were hunting down anything remotely alive and devouring them in a frenzy. This group of four, these Survivors, were determined not to die, at least, _not today_.

The man at the rear was a tall, broad shoulder black man, with a good-natured face. The purple sports polo shirt he wore was a bit tight for his large chest and shoulders. He looked as if he might have been a hulking football player in his younger days, though he was probably close to forty years old now. His massive hands carried a heavy rifle, making it look like a child’s toy. He was heavy-set, probably a bit overweight, but he’d lost quite a bit of weight since the Infection broke out. Constantly running for your life, and the scarcity of food is a great diet plan. Exercise and less calorie-intake always worked. He was on his way to looking trim and fit if they weren’t rescued or eaten soon. His hazel eyes looked up at the three ahead of him, the man in the white suit, the young Ellis, and the only female in their group.

She was short and slender with smooth brown skin and large brown eyes. Wearing a bright pink top and blue jeans, she carried an automatic rifle in her hands. Her coal black hair was pulled back away from her face, her expression grim and determined. Though she was small, all three of the men knew she was one tough little lady, and she didn’t let them forget it either. She was probably in her late twenties, with almond-shaped eyes dark and confident. Her jean-clad slender legs gave way to wide hips, and slim waist. Her shirt was splotched with stains of blood and mud. The woman walked down the highway, a sigh escaping her pink rose-colored lips at the dejected Ellis.

“He’s just nervous, Nick.”, she scolded the man in the white suit. “We all are…”, she added under her breath, her voice soft and low.

“I’m not nervous.”, denied the suit-clad Nick. “When I’m in the mood for tone-deaf hick music, I’ll let you know.”, he said sarcastically.

Ellis pursed his lips, “Dang, Nick… You get touchy when yer nervous, don’t ya?”, he said with a broad grin.

The big black man’s deep chuckling laughter drifted from behind them. “I’m NOT nervous.”, Nick snapped again, turning around to glare at the big man bringing up the rear. “How you doin’ back there, Coach? I can hear you wheezing all the way from up here, Fat A-”

“Alright Nick! That’s enough. Everyone calm down!”, barked the little female.

“Aw, Rochelle…”, piped up Ellis. “Nick’s just funnin’. Ain’t ya Nick?”, asked the young man with his drawling southern accent.

The man in the white suit spun around stopping in front of him, his eyes blazing. “Do I look like I’m _funnin’_ , Ellis? Do I? Huh? Do I?”

The southern boy lowered his eyes, mumbling something unintelligible. An awkward, tense silence fell over the group, as Nick glared at them all. All four were silent, for a long time, before Nick turned around and continued down the highway. The others followed in grim silence again. All four of them were covered with stains, dirt, and grime, their clothes torn and frayed. They certainly looked rather worse for wear, but it was the zombie apocalypse. How did you expect them to look? As for them, they figured they were doing pretty good. They were Survivors, they were all alive… _for now_.


	2. the Witch

#  **The Witch**

 

The survivors continued down the highway, with the hot sun on their backs. Little time passed before they came to an overpass bridge. One by one, each of them subconsciously stiffened and tensed up a bit. It was dark and shady under the bridge, a pile of abandoned and wrecked vehicles up against the barriers. It was an ideal place for an ambush. The concrete was spotted with brownish stains, and they could smell the now unfortunately familiar stench of rotting corpses. Nick was at the front, walking onward without hesitation. His flinty eyes searched every shadow, his lip curling into a snarl, as if daring any of the Infected to charge out at him. The bridge loomed over top of them, as they walked under it and into its shadow. Dead bodies lay scattered here and there, limply hanging out of vehicles and sprawled out in the road. Most were decomposed Infected with their skulls bashed in, laying amid blood and bile. Someone had been here before them, though there was no way of knowing how long ago they had passed through. Ellis uncomfortably scratched the back of his neck, looking around at the automobiles and shadows under the bridge.

“Sort o’spooky, huh?”, he commented, receiving a glare from Nick for speaking. 

The redneck shrugged, and gripped his shotgun tighter. Coach let out a long, uneasy sigh, looking around, while Rochelle rolled her shoulders uncomfortably. “Lets just keep going.”, she said in a calm, soft voice.

Nick barely acknowledged her with a nod, and turned around, only to stop dead in his tracks. His abrupt stop, nearly caused Ellis to plow right into him. The younger man started to urge Nick to keep moving, when he realized  _ why _ Nick had stopped.

A faint echo under the bridge drifted to their ears: The soft, mournful, whispering sound of a woman sobbing. Normally that sound might bring out feelings of sympathy and pity for whatever poor woman was crying. But the Survivors had come to associate that sound with something else. Witch. 

Nick felt the hair prick up on the back of his neck, his heart beginning to pound in his chest. His eyes narrowed, and he gripped the submachine gun tighter. Ellis’ blue eyes widened, and he took a step back, turning to look back at Rochelle and Coach. 

“Witch.”, he said quietly, shifting from one foot to the other.

Rochelle’s mouth tightened into a firm line, and she frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. Coach inhaled a long, slow breath behind her, nodding grimly with resignation in his eyes. Nick refused to take another step, struggling to keep panic from rising up inside him. 

A Witch. Those thin, wiry creatures with spidery, razor-sharp claws were enough to inspire fear in anyone. The weeping echoing under the overpass brought to mind images of a skinny, feminine figure with stringy hair hanging around a ghastly face. The wailing sobs continued, and from the sound, the origin of the cries wasn’t too far from them. Ellis swallowed, remembering those red glowing eyes, and high-pitch growls bursting with rage and seething anger. Rochelle hunched her shoulders, looking around nervously. Those screams, those ear-shattering howls haunted all of them in their dreams. Coach was sweating, and not just from the heat, as he wiped his forehead on his sleeve. There was a deep, heaving gasp of air, and the shuddering sobs continued. The pitiful cries sounded so human, so sad and lonely. But the crying didn’t inspire any compassion or pity. The Survivors had come to associate this sound with fear, horror, and death. This chilling sound possessed the potential to freeze the blood in one’s veins. If spooked or startled, a Witch would chase down her victim, and nothing could deter her from her prey. She lunged at you, screeching unearthly cries, with long claws extended, reaching for your throat–Nick shuddered visibly. He hated Witches.

Ellis frowned, seeing the gambler having trouble moving forward. 

“Don’t you worry none, Nick. I’ll get her.”, he assured him, heading off cautiously toward the sound.

Nick scowled, “You’re gonna get yourself killed, Hick.”, he growled, shaking his head, but still not moving forward.

Ellis grinned, “I’ll be careful.” 

Rochelle looked worried, “Ellis… Maybe don’t go out there…”, she cautioned, anxiously.

“Don’t worry, girl.”, Coach’s deep bass voice assured her. “I’ll go with ‘em.”

The woman nodded, with a slight, uneasy smile at the big man. Nick took a deep breath, ducking his head. It was unlike Nick to be so hesitant, but he was freezing up. The gambler’s last encounter with a Witch had nearly been fatal. 

“I hate those Witches.”, he growled, shuffling in place a bit. 

“Yeah… they’re pretty nasty.”, Rochelle said, sliding her hand over the off-white sleeve of his blazer in a soothing manner. Nick shrugged her hand off angrily, but Rochelle just smiled softly, watching Coach and Ellis make their way around a pickup truck on its side.

Coach watched as Ellis stooped forward slightly, holding the shotgun against his shoulder, blue eyes searching for the crying creature. They came around the front of a banged up, red Silverado pick up and Ellis couldn’t help but appreciate the vehicle. He might have remarked outloud, but he was too focused on the sobbing cries that seemed to grow louder. The young redneck stopped dead in his tracks, and pointed with a hand in front of him. Coach followed the direction of his gesture, and then he spotted her. 

The crouching figure had her back to them, hunched over what must have been her latest victim. More dead Infected lay on the road, bits of rotting flesh and dismembered limbs scattered on the pavement. The Witch’s shoulders heaved with her crying sobs, burying her face in her hands. She sat in a puddle of crimson blood, her dark hair hanging over her face in stringy strips. Her bloody, tattered clothes hung off her thin frame, as she continued to wail and cry, her body shaking with each sob.

Coach swallowed, his throat feeling as dry as dust. The big man raised the heavy rifle to his shoulder, stepping softly to the right of Ellis, and sighting in on the back of her head. If a Witch wasn’t killed instantly, you wouldn’t get a second chance. He crept up closer with Ellis at his side. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins, expecting at any moment for that screech to break the air, and blood-stained claws reaching for him. He could  _ not _ miss. This shot could mean life or death for him and Ellis–for all of them. He eased his finger over the trigger, as he now was only a mere seven feet away from the weeping creature.

Ellis stood kept close to Coach, slightly behind him, as they crept up on the Witch. He barely breathed, trying to keep as silent as possible. Any slip up, any little accidental noise could set the deadly thing off. The air seemed frustratingly still, only the softest sounds in the air. The sound of tiny grains of sand blown against the dented mental sides of the cars, and the buzzing of insects mixed with the fluttering cries of the Witch.

Coach focused his crosshairs on the back of her softly, bobbing head, just at the base of her neck. A bead of sweat slowly slid down his temple, as he let out the breath he’d been holding. His finger curled around the trigger, slowly starting to squeeze. 

Ellis without any sign of warning, brought his hand down sharpy on the rifle barrel simultaneously as the shot went off. The barrel slanted downwards, firing harmlessly at patch of road in front of the Witch’s feet. The bullet merely ricocheted off the pavement leaving a white chip on the blacktop. Coach gaped open mouthed, his hands starting to tremble. The Witch let out a startled and furious scream that echoed over and over under the overpass bridge, her spindly limbs unfolding as she climbed to her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter, thanks again to Watson my proofreader. I'll be posting another very soon. I know my chapters are very short, but it lets me post a little bit every day or so. :)  
> ~ NevermoreQ


	3. the Mistake

#  **The Mistake**

When they had crept up on the Witch, Coach thought his heart couldn’t possibly beat any faster. He was wrong. Ellis had knocked the gunbarrel down, purposely causing him to miss the shot. He’d nearly had a heart attack, as the Witch let out a scream and spun around to face them. Coach had been too startled to even move, to even breath. He could almost feel for those spidery, blood-stained claws piercing into his chest. He stumbled backwards into Ellis, firing his rifle blindly in the direction of the charging Witch. The only thought in his head was they were dead. Ellis had killed them, killed them both.

_ Boom! Boom! Ba-boom! _

Coach’s rifle fired repeatedly, shattering the tension and silence that had hung over the highway. Nick flinched and cursed loudly, starting toward the shots with his weapon raised. Rochelle let out a soft gasp.

“I  _ knew _ I shouldn’t have let them go.”, she groaned between clenched teeth. In less than a second, she was right at Nick’s heels, pulling the automatic rifle tight against her shoulder. The two rounded the corner of the overturned pickup truck side by side. Nick’s dress shoes pounded the pavement, alongside Rochelle’s boots, rifle barrels raised, and ready. 

Nick threw all caution to the wind, never mind the fact that the Witch might be waiting for him around the corner. She was probably just waiting for him to run straight into her bloody, outstretched arms. 

They came barreling around the corner, only to find Ellis laying on the ground, tangled up under Coach’s feet. There was no sign of the Witch, as if she’d completely vanished. Coach was gasping for breath, as he let the heavy rifle slip from his hands to the asphalt. The gun clattered to the road, as Ellis struggled to get to his knees.

“Eh-Eh-Ellis…”, Coach sputtered, holding his chest, and gaping down at the curly-headed Survivor on the ground. Rochelle lowered her rifle, walking quickly toward the two.

“Hey, hey! Are you two alright? What the heck just happened here?!”, she demanded, her brow furrowed with worry. Nick also, slowly lowered his weapon, glancing around confused. 

“What the…”, The gambler muttered to himself, his greyish-green eyes searching the shadows for the missing Witch. Rochelle had no sooner reached the two when Coach hauled Ellis off the ground, and hoisted him into the air. Ellis let out a yell, as the big man slammed him against the support pillar. Nick and Rochelle watched with open-mouths, gaping at Coach’s anger, hardly able to believe their eyes.

Ellis’s cry of pain echoed under the bridge as his body slammed against one of the concrete support pillars. His head cracked against the concrete, as his body jarred from the impact. Coach’s meaty paws gripped Ellis’s worn and faded t-shirt threatening to rip the cotton material. He shoved the young man up against the pillar under the bridge with ferocity akin to one of the Charger zombies they had encountered.    
“Are you out of your blasted mind!?”, roared the big man with a voice like thunder.    
Ellis’s legs dangled in the air, as he kicked and scrambled against the concrete wall.    
“C-coach…”, he sputtered, feeling his shoulder blades slammed into the wall again.

Coach was furious, his voice shaking with rage and fear. His adrenaline was skyrocketing, blood rushing in his ears. It was completely out of character and unlike the big man to get so upset. His usual, soft, easy-going personality was such a sharp contrast to this out-of-control frenzy.

“You crazy, s-stupid, kid! I’m going to kill you, Ellis!” 

Nick’s eyes narrowed, and he took a quick step forward.

“Hey!”, he snapped, his tone almost vicious. “Knock it off! Get your hands off him!” The gambler shot out his hand, gripping Coach’s arm. 

“Coach, what the heck is wrong with you?!”, Rochelle shouted in alarm.

“I SAID, let go of him!”

Nick’s sharp tone seemed to snap Coach out of his daze, and the big man took a deep breath, his grip loosening, letting Ellis slide to the ground. The young man’s heavy work boots hit the cracked pavement of the road, his legs almost buckling underneath him. Ellis slowly straightened up, his dingy baseball cap almost falling off his head.  Placing a hand against the pillar to steady himself, he gingerly clutched his ribcage, as he looked up at Coach, wide-eyed.

“Daaang, Coach…”, he said, looking shocked. “I ain’t never seen you git so darned mad.”, he said, his face flushing. The young guy looked a bit hurt, ducking his head and hiding his eyes.

“Ellis, you killed us!”, Coach growled, taking a few steps backwards. “You just about killed us!”

“Both of you just–”, Rochelle tried to intervene.

“Alright, alright!”, Nick shouted above Coach’s booming voice, and Rochelle’s attempt to calm them down . “You are  _ not _ killed…”, he said, looking back and forth between them, “You’re both still alive!”, he said, raising his hands in the air, still holding the submachine gun in his right hand. “So tell me what the stupid idiot’s done now, and I’ll kill him myself.”, he snarled flippantly. 

“Hey now, I didn’t do nuthin’...”, Ellis said, looking a bit sulky, rubbing the back of his head, and grimacing. Rochelle walked over to Coach, placing a hand on his shoulder, as he stooped over breathing heavily. She had never seen the easy-going man so upset. 

“What happened, Big Guy?”, she asked, in a soft, reassuring voice looking up at him, her dark eyes apprehensive. Coach swallowed, and straightened up, pointing a finger at Ellis. 

“He made me miss the shot… kn-nocked the barrel down.” Rochelle turned to look at Ellis, raising an eyebrow.

“Ellis… it was an accident... right?”

The boy shook his head, “Na… I did it on purpose–”

“Are you INSANE, Ellis!?”, Nick interrupted him, slapping him upside the back of his head, knocking his baseball cap off in the process.

“Hey…”, Ellis protested weakly, rubbing the back of his head. Rochelle’s eyes narrowed, and she spoke softly, her voice filled with reproach. 

“Ellis, that’s a really rotten and stupid thing to do… What on earth were you  _ thinking _ ?”, she asked, shaking her head, confused and alarmed. Nick and her both looked at Ellis accusingly, completely appalled at what he’d just admitted. Coach looked up, stooped over, his hands on his knees, as he caught his breath.

“Why… Why?!”, he gasped, completely bewildered why there could be any reason to  _ purposely _ save a Witch. Ellis lifted his chin up, still holding his ribs.

“Because that weren’t no Witch.  _ That was a girl _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Should have another soon. Thank you, Watson. :)  
> ~ NevermoreQ


	4. the Explanation

#  **The Explanation**

 

They all just stared at him, none of them saying anything. It was quiet again, then Nick was the first one to start talking. 

“Yeah, uh… Ellis. In case you haven’t noticed… all the Witches are girl zombies.”, he said condescendingly.

“Na, this here was a human girl. Not infected.”, Ellis repeated, shaking his head stubbornly.

“I saw her! Boy, what you talking about? That was a Witch, sure as anything!”, Coach said adamantly. 

Rochelle tilted her head, looking sympathetic. “Are you sure, Ellis? Maybe you just  _ thought _ it looked like–”

“ _ Maybe _ you’re just crazy, kid.”, Nick interrupted with a grin. Rochelle gave him a dirty look, before placing her hand on Ellis’s arm. 

“That’s  _ not _ what I meant.”, she said, glaring at Nick. “What I mean is… we’re all on edge, and maybe…” Coach shook his head, silently leaning toward Nick’s idea.

Ellis looked very irritated and sullen. “No.”, he repeated pulled away from Rochelle. “It  _ was _ a girl, not a zombie!”

“It was probably just wistful thinking.”, Nick suggested, looking around for any sign of the Witch, or whatever it was. “I understand. Ya know? A man gets desperate.”, he offered with a wink.

Coach threw up his hands, with a sigh. Rochelle made a face, and Ellis narrowed his eyes.

Nick held up a hand in defense, “Hey, I get it. You go so long without even looking at a girl, even the Witches start looking good to you.”, he said with an understanding tone.

“What am I? Chopped liver?”, Rochelle protested, looking offended.

“Man, you nasty.”, Coach muttered under his breath, as Nick grinned, ignoring Rochelle.

Ellis reached down, picking up his baseball cap. “I know what I saw, and it weren’t no zombie. That was a girl cryin’.”, he said, now beginning to sound hurt.

Rochelle bit her lip, looking doubtful. “I want to believe you, Ellis. I don’t think you’d do such a thing unless you were sure it was a person, but… we haven’t seen a soul in over a month.”

“I wonder what she was crying about.”, Nick mused, poking around where the Witch had been. Coach was almost recovered from his scare, and started to reload his rifle. 

Nick started to laugh, “Hey Coach…”, he said, grinning at him, “You gonna need a fresh pair of boxers after that one, eh?” 

Ellis faintly grinned, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I don’t know about him.. but I might. You scared me half to death there, Coach.”, he said, shaking his head. Rochelle walked over to Nick, as Coach started to chuckle. 

“Sorry, Ellis. You almost gave me a heart attack. Don’t ever do that again.”, the big man begged.

“I wonder if she was crying about him…”, Rochelle’s voice sounded grim, as she crouched down on the ground where the Witch had been kneeling. The group walked over, looking down at the body on the ground. 

He was an old man, probably in his fifties with grey hair brushed to the side. He didn’t look infected, but his chest was crushed in, blood staining his mouth, his flesh covered with cuts and abrasions. He wore dungarees, a denim jacket, and dirty work boots. His hands were covered with blood and scratches, his clothing ripped. He was dead, but he had been an uninfected human.

“Looks like a Charger got him.”, Ellis said quietly, as they looked down at the dead man.

Coach scratched his head, “He wasn’t infected. Maybe you were right, Ellis…”, he pondered, for the first time realizing he might have almost killed a human being. Rochelle sighed, wondering what the world was coming to when a woman couldn’t cry without being mistaken for a zombie and nearly blown to pieces.

“ _ Or _ …”, Nick’s voice cut in on all their somber thoughts, “...She actually  _ was _ a Witch, and this guy was her latest victim.” Three pairs of eyes looked up at him irritated.

“Just saying.”, he shrugged. 

Ellis stuck out his chin, “You ever known a Witch to run?”

Coach inhaled slowly, rubbing his jaw. “Huh. Come to think of it, I never did see a Witch run away like that.” 

“Maybe we should go look fer’ her.”, Ellis suggested, looking around at the pile of cars and vehicles. Rochelle and Coach exchanged glances.

“Um… maybe not, Ellis… We should find a place to hole up, while there’s still light..”, Rochelle cautioned softly, as Coach nodded in agreement. Nick was less tactful.

“No way, Ellis. You’ve done enough stupid, insane things for one day.”

“He hasn’t been dead very long.”, Rochelle commented, standing up and looking down sadly at the old man. Nick crouched down next to the body, starting to go through his pockets.

“Hey, Nick… that ain’t cool.”, Ellis said, his eyes cold.

Nick shrugged, producing a box of cartridges from the man’s jacket pocket. He merely held them up, shaking the box, offering the rattle of bullets for an answer.

“I just feel so dang awful for almost shootin’ her, and leavin’ her out here all alone.”, Ellis continued, reluctant to leave. Rochelle and Coach kept silent, but Nick stood up and opened his mouth to say something. A look from Rochelle made him shut it, and keep silent as well. They stood there in silence for a moment. 

“Ok, lets go.”, urged Nick as he took the lead again. Ellis fell in behind him, looking back at the bridge guiltily. Rochelle walked up and fell into pace beside him. The young man looked up and smiled at her, knowing she was there for him, whether she believe him or not. Coach sighed, looking around uneasily. “Next time Ellis goes after a Witch, you go with him, Nick.”, he said loud enough for the gambler to hear. Ellis grinned sheepishly again, as Nick shook his head.   
“No freakin’ way, Doughnut Boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be writing the next chapter in a week or so. I don't know how good it is, but I know I'm having some fun writing it. As always, thank you to my proofreader and friend, Watson.  
> ~ NevermoreQ


	5. The Night

#  **The Night**

They four eventually holed up in a saferoom at a fuel station alongside the highway. It was a small room, with one heavy door and a single window, which was already boarded up, and nailed down tight. It looked like it was used as a storage room once, a few crates and cardboard boxes were piled against the walls. A single electric lantern dimly lit up the close space, casting shadows over the dirty walls. The white tile floor was a dingy brown, stained with mud and blood. The walls were grimy and covered with graffiti. Scribblings, notes, doodles, and symbols were drawn all over in the walls in marker and pen.

" _I hate the zombies!"_ , one said in thick black marker.

" _Me too!"_ , another concurred in scrawling blue pen.

" _The zombies ate my dog!"_ , was the one below a furious black pen scribble, and...  
_  
_ " _You're lucky. Zombies ate my freakin' ARM."_ , finished it out in shaky purple marker.

Trash, wrappers, empty tin cans, plastic bottles and crumpled paper littered the floor. Coach was sprawled out on on some flattened cardboard boxes, his long legs stretched out. He lay on his side his head cradled in his arms. Nick was curled up in the furthest corner, his back against the wall with his knees drawn up. He had fallen asleep in a sitting position, his head sunken down on his chest, his hands loosely holding the submachine gun in his lap.

It was quiet outside, the empty fuel station pitch black and still. Most of the shelves were empty, looted long before the four had arrived. They had found a few items they could use in the sparse merchandise left in the convenience store. Rochelle happened upon a few bottles of aspirin that had rolled under the counter and not been noticed. Nick was happy to discover a pack of cigarettes, and a few other things he pocketed without telling the others. Coach's personal find was an assortment of unopened chocolate bars. Ellis found some expired beef jerky that he ate despite Nick's warning that he would probably die from food poisoning. Ellis had remarked that it was a bit dry, but nice and chewy, while Nick shook his head in disgust.

The night outside the fuel station was a deep blue-black color as the moon shone down over the parking lot. It was mostly quiet, but for an occasional snarl or moan amid the faint distant sound of crickets and frogs. It was a hot and muggy summer night with a slight fog drifting from the woods on either side of the highway. With the absence of city lights and street lamps, the stars seemed to glitter far brighter in the dark sky than before the apocalypse.

Inside the saferoom was another story, as it was far from quiet. Coach's snoring was enough to wake the dead, if the dead hadn't already been awake and zombified. Nick didn't snore much, but he often muttered and tossed in his sleep. Ellis was sitting in the corner, his head against a cardboard box, his shotgun resting at his side. His curly, dirty-blonde hair stuck up in a mess, as he played with his baseball cap in his lap. It was Rochelle's turn at watch, and she sat on a wooden crate beside the electric lantern. Her hair was hanging around her face and her eyes looked tired, as she watched the door wearily. The woman rested the rifle in her lap, rubbing her eyes with a dirty fist. She couldn't remember the last time she felt clean or rested.

"You look taard, Ro.", Ellis's southern voice spoke up, causing her to turn her head.

"I _am_ tired, Ellis.", she replied, smothering a yawn, and looking out drearily at the dark convenient store. Rochelle ran her finger down the barrel of her automatic rifle while shifting her position. "What are you doing up anyway? It's your turn to sleep."

Ellis smiled faintly, "Na, I can't quit thinkin' about that girl. Hope she's alright out there all alone n' all.", he said, looking down at his worn out baseball cap.

Rochelle looked a bit uncertain, hesitating before speaking. "Ellis… Are… Are you sure she wasn't a zombie?"

Ellis made a face, getting frustrated that no one believed him. "Well, Ro… I'd have to be pretty dang sure, if I was gonna risk our lives like that…", he said in a dry and stern voice he rarely ever used.

Rochelle caught the sharp tone in his voice, foreign to Ellis's usual easy-going drawl. "Alright.", she said with a nod of acceptance. "I didn't get a look at her, but I trust you. What did she look like?"

Ellis frowned, and leaned forward a bit. "She was a skinny little thing. It was hard to tell she weren't a zombie. She was so covered with blood and dirt n' stuff.", he said, spinning his cap on one hand. "She had long, stringy, brown hair, and bright blue eyes. You know them zombies have those white or red eyes. It was them blue eyes that sorta just…", he trailed off, his eyes staring into the distance.

Rochelle looked at his face, as the room grew quiet, expect for Coach's rhythmic snoring. Ellis spoke again, in a softer voice.

"Just… sorta caught my attention… Kinda spooky.. seeing a human face look out at you when you're expectin' a zombie." Both grew very quiet, neither of them saying anything, as Ellis looked into space, recalling the memory.

"SON OF A–!"

Rochelle gasped and clutched the rifle, as Nick suddenly shouted without warning. Ellis flinched and ducked his head, also startled by the outburst. They turned to glare at the gambler with shocked and angry expressions. Nick tossed his head to one side, his eyes closed, lips moving in unintelligible murmuring. His feet kicked out fitfully, as he shifted in his sleep.

"I really hate it when he does that.", Ellis remarked, as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Good Lord…", Rochelle muttered, closing her eyes and catching her breath.

"Hey, why don't you let me take watch for a bit?", Ellis offered, starting to rise to his feet. Rochelle shook her head.

"No, I'm fine. It's your time to sleep.", she insisted.

"Na, really. Let me. I'm up anyway, and you look dawg-tired.", he urged, picking up his shotgun. Rochelle was hesitant, but had to admit, she was too tired to argue.

"Well… ok…", she gave in, "...but if you get tired wake me or Nick up, ok? Coach had the first watch, so let him sleep." The woman rose to her feet, stretching out the muscles in her arms and back.

"Don't worry too much about the girl, Ellis. She's probably alright.", she attempted to ease his worrying. Ellis looked doubtful, as he took her place, leaning against the crate.

"Well, that old guy we found dead on the highway… What if he was takin' care of her? Now he's dead. Who's lookin' out for her now?" Rochelle didn't answer, just nodded grimly, and curled up against the wall. Ellis watched as the tired woman fell asleep almost instantaneously. He smiled and slid his cap on the back of his head, She was one heck of a lady. Ellis stared off into the darkness outside the door, his thoughts on the bright blue eyes staring out in fear and sorrow. The pitiful weeping sound of a crying–

"Busted!", Nick muttered, "...pocket rockets… stupid fish.. What.. _harumph_! Idiot… _ugh_ _mufphlg!_ "

Ellis raised an eyebrow, and eyed the fidgeting gambler.

"Gee, Nick. You're always complaining how much I gab… Least I shut up when I'm sleepin'.", he grumbled critically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter five! Sorry about the little wait. I'll try to get another chapter out soon.  
> I'd love to have some feedback. Please, feel free to write a review or send me a message.  
> As always thank you, Watson, for proofreading. :)  
> ~ NevermoreQ


	6. the Dawn

#  **The Dawn**

 

It was just beginning to get light out, the black of night giving into the dark blue just before daybreak. Birds were beginning to sing, a lively sound for such a dying world. Ellis rubbed his tired eyes, and attempted to smother a huge yawn. 

“Oh.. Lord, I’m taard.”, he muttered, standing up from his seat on the wooden crate. The young man stretched his arms above his head, his shotgun still in hand. He rested the weapon on the back of his neck and shoulders, one hand gripping the stock, the other hand holding the barrel. Turning his stiff neck from side to side, he rolled his shoulders, pulling them back until he heard his back crack. 

“Ohh…”, he groaned, shaking the stiffness out of his body. “I ain’t rightly gonna make Coach angry again any time soon… thats for sure.”, he mumbled, remembering the big man’s violent outburst at him. Ellis figured it must be close to five in the morning, and he glanced over at Nick sleeping in the corner. He could probably catch a few hours of sleep before it was time to move on, if he woke the gambler up to keep watch. Ellis let his hands fall to his side, holding the shotgun loosely in the crook of his arm. He walked over and knelt down next to the sleeping Nick.

“Yo Nick… Buddy.”, he said, nudging his shoulder. Nick turned his head to the side, his hands resting on the machine gun in his lap. Ellis placed a hand on his white-suited shoulder, and gave him a light shake. “Nick. Wake up!” 

The man’s eyes opened halfway, and he grunted vaguely. “Mm?”

“Time to get up. I need ya to take watch fer me.”   
Nick closed his eyes again, reaching up and draping his arm over Ellis’s neck. “Monica… baaaby… Go back to sleep.”

Ellis’s eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “Uh…”, he stammered, as Nick muttered in his sleep, not quite awake.

“Sweetheart… s’still early.”

Ellis jabbed Nick in the ribs with the butt of his shotgun, “Nick.”, he said sternly, his eyes narrowed. “Git your sorry self awake. I wanna get some shut-eye.”

“OW!” The gambler let out a yelp and jerked awake, pulling his arm off Ellis and recoiling away from him. “Ellis! What the–”   
“Git up and take watch.”

Nick scrambled to his feet, glaring at Ellis and looking startled. Ellis just grinned and handed him the submachine gun.    
“Who’s  _ Monica _ , Nick? Is she  _ purr-ty _ ?”   
“Shut up!”, he growled, as he snatched the machine gun from Ellis, and brushed off his suit while Ellis chuckled.

“Its yer turn. I wanna get some shuteye.”.

Nick straightened up and faced the saferoom door, as Ellis eased himself down on the floor where Nick had been sleeping. His bones ached, every muscle was sore. Ellis felt a tremendous tiredness, his eyes heavy, sleep calling to him.

“Whew… I could sleep for an entaar  _ year. _ ”, he muttered under his breath. He looked up at the man in the dingy suit before him. He couldn’t see the man’s face, his only view of Nick’s shoulders outlined against the window of the saferoom door. As the young hick stretched out his legs, sprawling out on the floor, the gambler paced back and forth a bit in front of the door. As Nick rubbed the back of his neck, his left hand holding the submachine gun loosely, Ellis wondered if Nick ever felt as tired as he did right now. Nick did complained a lot. He complained about germs, complained about Ellis’s talking, complained about anything in general that irritated him, and a lot of things irritated him. Despite his grumbling, Nick didn’t ever complain about being tired or hurt. The few times he had come close to dying, all he had said was:

_ “If I go, you guys are gonna miss me.” _ or

_ “Well, boys, this looks like it for me.” _

If you asked him if he was okay, he merely responded flippantly or roughly like:

_ “You tell me.”  _ or

_ “Fan-freakin'-tastic. That's how I am.” _

Ellis settled back closing his eyes, his brow a bit furrowed as he realized Nick never said much about how he was feeling. He wondered if he was doing alright. The man sure did look tired. He looked plain exhausted. His brow scrunched up more as he remembered their rescue from the bridge, and the events that followed. Maybe Nick wasn’t doing so good after all. 

Night was fading quickly, as the deep dusky blue began to lighten. The stars twinkled out of existence, the moon still visible, as the sun’s rays flooded over the parking lot outside. It poured through the gas station, seeping through cracks in the boarded up, broken windows as dust particles swirled in the light beams. The sun rose up higher in the sky, shining its warm rays down on blacktop of the pavement, baking the twisted metal hoods of abandoned cars, and warming the rotting, decayed flesh of the Infected. The four survivors inside the saferoom were sleeping, all of them. Coach was still sound asleep, snoring loudly. Rochelle was curled up sleeping soundlessly, while Ellis lay sprawled out with his hat over his eyes, his chest rising up and down in time to his own snoring. Coach was by far the louder of the two, but Ellis seemed to be trying to give him a run for his money. They were all dead tired, even Nick, which was why he had drifted off to sleep despite the snoring of the other two men. 

The gambler had eventually stopped pacing and walked over to sit on the edge of the table in the saferoom. He rubbed the back of his neck, sliding his hand down under his jaw and over his chin, scratching the stubble of his beard. He needed a shave. A shave, a shower, and a new suit, none of which were even remotely possible. Ellis’s wondering had been correct that Nick was tired, more than just a little. He was tired of… being tired. Sick and tired of being sick and tired. His green eyes were slightly bloodshot, his face, his entire body a bit thinner than he had been before their  _ rescue _ . The suit he was still wearing, couldn’t really be called  _ white _ anymore. His dark hair stuck up in the front, as he rubbed his eyes and forehead. His muscles were sore, his joints were aching, not to mention various scrapes and bruises. His eyes flickered from the door to his three sleeping companions with envy, all of them blissfully enjoying the sleep he desired. 

_ I could leave and they wouldn’t notice I was gone until they woke up. _

Nick actually was surprised at himself for the thought that popped into his head. He thought he was past that stage of resentment and foolish, independent,  _ I-work-alone _ ethic, at least with  _ them _ . This was Rochelle, this was Coach. This was  _ Ellis _ . These were his friends, the best he’d ever had. Old habits were hard to break, he supposed, as he admitted he wouldn’t mind it on his own again. The only one he could trust was himself, the only one who wouldn’t screw him over was himself. But… not  _ these _ guys, they were different. They hadn’t left him, back with CEDA, they hadn’t left him. Nick’s eyes were growing heavy, as the saferoom door began to look blurry and hazy. They had saved his life countless times. They were alright, they were his friends. The tired gambler’s head dropped lower and lower, as his mind started to wander off, and sleep began to creep over him, tugging at him with its warm, irresistible embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for such a long time between chapters. Busy schedule interferes with my writing. I'll be attempting to post more chapters in a more regular basis. I love getting feedback, it encourages me to keep writing. Let me know what you think. Until next time...  
> \- Nevermore

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Watson my proofreader. Just a little fanfic about the L4D2 characters. I will be posting another chapter very soon.  
> And I always appreciate feedback. :)  
> ~ NevermoreQ


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